


you're running after something that you'll never kill

by Marenke



Series: sea of bitterness [6]
Category: 20th Century CE RPF, Anastasia (1997), Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally, Historical RPF, Original Work, Russian Royalty RPF
Genre: F/F, Historical, Historical Figures, Historical Inaccuracy, Historical References, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, NaNoWriMo, Underage Smoking, alexei and olga have brief cameos just like alix, like really, masha is poor she doesnt get a surname
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2021-01-23 07:06:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21316156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marenke/pseuds/Marenke
Summary: The Tsarevich was screaming again, and Anastasia had been sent outside, to the gardens, to take her mind off it after staying with him for three days and two nights.
Relationships: Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanova (1901-1918)/Original Female Character(s), Anya | Anastasia Romanov & Maria Romanov (Anastasia 1997 & Broadway), Anya | Anastasia Romanov & Tatiana Romanov (Anastasia 1997 & Broadway)
Series: sea of bitterness [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1534817
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	you're running after something that you'll never kill

**Author's Note:**

> hello i tried making this historically accurate tm bc i lov that BUT since this IS my au i decided to mix it up w the broadway/movie. quartet at the ballet snaps. thanks for your time.

The Tsarevich was screaming again, and Anastasia Nikolaevna had been sent outside, to the gardens, to take her mind off it after staying with him for three days and two nights.

She was twelve, and already lines of pain marred her face as she squatted on the ground, using a broken twig she had got from the ground to write letters on the frozen earth. By her side, Masha watched, the hem of her dress growing wetter by the minute, but she knew that the girl in front of her needed something to keep her mind off the screaming of the boy.

Rasputin was praying with the Czarina, Masha could hear it, but the boy kept screaming, louder than the prayers.

“And that’s an N, and with an I it forms NI…” She said, deaf to the screaming. Masha was sure she must’ve been: after all, she had been spending every waking moment by the side of the boy, whose pain only grew and never subsided. At last, her older sister, Olga Nikolaevna, had taken her by the scruff of her clothes and assumed her place, telling her to not come back until dinner had passed.

She had taken a bath, eaten, and wandered down to the garden, were Masha had been trespassing, grabbing flowers for her older sister’s grave. Anastasia had thought that she was the gardener’s daughter, and Masha hadn’t disabused her of the notion. Somehow, it had lead to this, Masha learning her letters while starting to be unable to feel her legs.

“And with that you make the K, and the O, and the…” She was working on autopilot, Masha noticed, and snapped her fingers in front of the girl’s grey-blue eyes, startling her and making her fall to the ground. Masha rose to her feet, offering a hand to the girl, who accepted it. “What?”

“Do you want to run?” She asked, and Anastasia cocked her head. “You… Well, I know a thing or two about siblings on bedrest. Running makes you tired enough to forget.”

Anastasia made a face, ready to spat a curse word at her, and Masha started to mend her words, frantic.

“And when my sister was on the bed, slipping away, all I wanted to do was run until my chest burst. It helped. I’ll understand if you don’t want to run, but…” Masha said, hands falling limply at her side, and Anastasia stared at her cautiously. 

“What do I get?”

“A kiss?” She suggested, jokingly, but the shine on Anastasia’s eyes told her she did not think of it as a joke. Well, who was Masha to complain? She was trespassing, after all. “On three.”

“You can’t read but you can count?” Anastasia asked, amused, and Masha blushed, indignant. Counting was more important than reading; how else she was supposed to know how many flowers to take? “Ready, set, go!”

And with that, she started running; Masha shook her head and went after her, running through the garden she had been familiarizing herself before, when she was sneaking through it to gather her plants.

Anastasia still won, for the simple fact she was more familiar with the terrain, and they stood, breathing heavily, at the center of the garden, the fog of their breath covering them.

Alexei’s screaming was far away, on the distance and barely able to heard.

“That was fun.” Anastasia said, between panting, regaining her breath. “You should come with me to Tsarskoe Selo.”

“But my family…” Masha started, panicking slightly at being caught lying, and the girl waved her hand. 

“Your father can garden there, can’t he?” Anastasia said, and then paused. “No, probably not, we already have a gardener there. Hmmm…”

She circled Masha, who was suddenly conscious of her dirty brown hair, of her mended clothes and her horse face, too long. 

“Can you sew?” She asked, touching the fabric of one of the many patches her dress had. 

“A little.”

Anastasia smiled and turned her, hands soft like only a rich girl could have, and planted a kiss on her lips for a mere second, chaste and not lasting long.

“Great! Tanya is needing girls to sew for her charity. You’ll be perfect!” Anastasia decided, like she was the Czarina of all Russia and her will was the law.

“Of course.” Masha replied, hands clasped in front of her body to avoid touching her lips, where warmth still lingered.

* * *

She didn’t see Anastasia much after arriving at Tsarskoe Selo and being put in the job of one of “Tatiana’s working girls”, which she felt had a lot more of spite than what was let be known. All they did was sit in a room for a few hours every day and work on embroidery and sewing clothes, and Masha enjoyed it, although she stayed silent: she had nothing in common with the other girls, a trespasser who was given a small view of noble life.

It was definitely odd, she decided, hearing the girls speak about court gossip and other such subjects, putting flowers in a handkerchief. Masha couldn’t relate to it at all, just like these girls, and yet they all spoke of it with such fervor, comparing notes on single noblemen like it mattered.

Masha knew that she would never marry a noble, and the same was valid to these girls in the small sewing room; therefore, why dream? Why spend time on it?

One of the girls turned to say something to her colleague when the screaming started, and it was disturbingly haunting, Alexei’s voice reverberating through the entire palace until it reached them, making girls stick their fingers in the needles as they cringed, or letting go of their work in a scare.

“My God, may He take care of the boy’s soul.” Said one of the girls, shaking her head, and she rose, letting go of her needlework and turning to the girl on her left. “Hey, Anushka, let’s go to town. No one’s going to check on our work, anyway.”

The girl by her side nodded ardently, and soon, one by one, all the girls left the work. Masha stayed behind, finishing the flower as she heard the screaming around her, suffocating and impossible to stay.

It would stop soon. She had crosses paths with the  _ starets  _ that was the boy’s healer once, and he had seemed haunted by something no human mind could bear, eyes full of depth that, frankly,  _ scared  _ Masha. She had kept her head down, and avoided the path to the kitchen at night, lest she come across him once more. 

Finishing her handkerchief, she took it out of the embroidery hoop, staring at it through the light, the flowers giving small red shadows on her face like blood splatters. Then, she put it on the ready pile and picked another linen.

* * *

Anastasia came to her three days later, bags under her eyes and thinner than before. All the girls had been chatting, and the moment she appeared, messy and wild, they became quiet, like they saw the ghost of a queen long gone. She was taller than before, but not by much, Masha noticed; if she stood tall, she’d be taller than the Grand Duchess.

Well, it was expected she was taller, as insignificant as that amount was: a year already had gone by, after all.

“Are you done with that?” She asked, looking at the dress she was putting in small wheat stalks in yellow thread, a delicate boring work no other girl wanted to do. 

“I am.” Masha lied, abandoning her half made work by the basket on the floor, and Anastasia grabbed her wrist, dragging her away from the room. There would be whispers and questions at her, but that was alright; Masha could deal with those.

Anastasia took her past the gardens, past the lake, into a small pier with a single boat attached to a rope. She jumped into the boat, firm even as it went back and forth in the halfway freezing water, and offered Masha a hand.

She accepted, because she wasn’t stupid, and joined Anastasia on her boat, the girl grabbing a paddle and separating the boat from the pier, letting the rope inside the boat as Masha sat down.

“Alexei is - “ She started, as the calm waters of the lake went by, the palace slowly gliding by them. “He’s sick. Again.”

“And you need to unload, I assume?” Masha asked, and Anastasia turned to her with the saddest smile on her face.

“Hey, you learned to speak fancy.” Anastasia laughed, a raspy sound that seemed like the first laughter she had in days. Masha beamed with pride.

“Well, I had to. These girls all thought I was some country bumpkin.” Masha replied, barely thinking, and when Anastasia’s eyes steeled themselves, hands gripping the paddle with more strength than necessary, she bit her tongue. “I mean, they’re right! Spalda isn’t a big town!”

“Do you want me to speak to Tanya? If they can’t keep their tongues in check, we might need to let them go.” Yet again, the Czarina: but this time, none of the regality, only the fear she would give to her subjects when ordering them around. 

“No!” Masha protested, and Anastasia rose an eyebrow at them. “These girls need the money your sister is paying them, poor Lizaveta is going to have a child, you want her to die because of the coming winter?”

Anastasia seemed mollified at that, nodding and going back to paddling. Masha was mortified at her outburst, though, shame coating her skin with a vice-like grip.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have screamed at you.”

“It’s alright. Someone’s got to speak like that. You know how many times these people are all…” She assumed a different posture, like one of the actress that ran around the country, acting in popular plays for the populace. Masha had seen them once, but her parents forbade it, saying it was sinful to see people pretending to not be themselves; and yet, she had sneaked to town to see people playing at being others. “‘Your Highness, might we say that this  _ awful _ , smelly green dress you are wearing today is the pinnacle of fashion? Especially when coupled with that decades old fur coat, oh my!’”

Masha laughed at her expressions, Anastasia joined her, and she went back to paddling, arriving in the middle of a small island, a chapel-like structure standing amidst a flower garden. 

Anastasia jumped out first to land, and gestured for the rope; Masha obeyed the silent command, and watched as she tied knots around a cement pole.

“You’re good with those.” She exclaimed, barely thinking, and Anastasia rose her eyes.

“Deverenko taught me and the baby some knots, to see if it could ease his mind off the pain. Didn’t work, but now I have this really good skill at tying knots.” A shadow of worry passed at her face as her grey-blue eyes went to the palace, far enough for the screams to be as loud as the swaying leaves. Masha rose from her seat, and the boat threatened to capsize, Anastasia snapping out of her thoughts and offering her a hand Masha accepted, the blonde girl pulling her into the safety of land.

When her feet reached dry land, Masha swore that she would never get in another boat again if possible, but knew that she couldn’t swim to the palace gardens. With a resigned sigh, she followed Anastasia into the chapel, the girl opening the doors and revealing a dusty space, five chairs around a table, with a small fireplace that seemed like it never had seen a fire.

“Welcome to OTMA House!” Anastasia said, false cheerfulness in her voice. She said OTMA as a name,  _ oh-tee-ma,  _ and Masha cocked her head. “My sisters and I used to play here all the time when we were younger, but mother forbade it after Alyosha got hurt here.” 

She gestured to a brown spot, the color of the walls of her house a few days after they slaughtered a pig, and Masha nodded, sitting on one of the chairs as Anastasia went around, opening the windows, humming to herself a cheery tune.

“What you used to do here?” Masha asked, looking around the bare walls, the light allowing for particles of dust to dance in front of her eyes.

“Oh, you know. Tea parties, play house, play matchmaker… All normal things.” Masha didn’t think playing matchmaker was a normal thing, but she bit her tongue as the girl went to the fireplace, digging upwards on the chimney and exclaiming happily as she found something. Masha looked at her curiously, and Anastasia came to the table, holding a battered pack of cigarettes. “Want one? It’s the last of my stash.”

Masha blinked, and nodded. It couldn’t hurt, right? Her parents always told her smoking was a sin, but she wasn’t back in Spalda anymore. Anastasia beamed, genuine, and opened the tin can, offering Masha a cigarette, taking from her pockets a small box of matches, first lighting Masha’s cigarette up.

“You  _ do  _ know how to smoke, right?” She asked, picking a cigarette from the box, and Masha shook her head as she held it between her fingers. Anastasia nodded at the denial, and then lit her own cigarette on Masha’s, the tip glowing red for a moment before she put it between her fingers, holding it to her mouth and… Sucking, seemingly. 

She held her breath for a long moment, and let go the smoke - ash grey, delicate like woven silk - in a single puff. Anastasia gestured for Masha to do the same as she took another drag, and Masha had to do her best to not cough at the acrid taste that permeated her mouth like vile grease.

Anastasia laughed at that, loud and uncaring, and Masha thought that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, if it kept her smiling.

* * *

“Thanks for keeping me company.” Anastasia said, face flush with cold as they walked back to the palace, Anastasia with a spring to her step now that before wasn’t there - although it seemed to disappear as they approached the palace, Alexei’s screams growing louder and louder until it seemed it was going to burst her eardrums.

“It’s nothing. It’s fun to me as well.” Masha replied, and Anastasia grinned, kissing her cheek for a second and making Masha jump in her own skin. “What was that?”

“Well, your mouth is going to taste bad if I kiss you right now, isn’t it?” Anastasia hummed, and Masha huffed, an amused eye roll taking her. 

A figure approached in the garden's midst, with blonde hair the color of chestnuts and eyes on the same hue of the sky on a sunny day. She seemed serious and strict, and she grabbed Anastasia’s wrist without a second thought.

“ _ Shvibzik _ ! Where have you been, mama has been looking like crazy for you!” She said through gritted teeth, not even sparing Masha a glance, and Anastasia sneered.

“What, I can’t even relax for a moment, when Rasputin can, Olya?” Anastasia replied, scathing and bitter, and the girl pursed her lips. 

Masha recognized her now: that was Olga, Anastasia’s older sister, serious and overbearing. She had heard of her through the gossip vine, and they never thought well of her; after all, Tatiana was their god and saviour.

“Not without telling mama where you were, silly girl.” Olga hissed, and her eyes were scary, full of fire Masha had only seen the most extreme of preachers have. 

“I told mom where I was, it’s not my fault she’s only paying attention to the baby.” Anastasia gestured, behind her back, for Masha to go, and Masha nodded, quietly skipping by, going back to her sewing room.

* * *

Masha kept sewing and embroidering, and the wheat field she was sewing was almost complete - through a late night session of it, her colleagues long having gone to their dalliances in town - when Anastasia strolled in, sat down on a chair, and put her feet up on another chair.

“Good evening. Do you want to go to town with me?” She said, smiling, smelling vaguely like smoke. “I’m all out of cigarettes, and Olga is  _ fuming  _ and won’t go to town, so I’m going to need to be creative. So, wanna come with me?”

“I’ve never been to Pushkin, so I don’t think I can be of help.” Masha pointed out, and Anastasia smiled.

“Well, me either. C’mon, come with me, I’ve let Tatiana know I’m going to be holed up somewhere, so the guards probably won’t come after us.”

“_Probably_?”

A smirk, dangerous.

“I like the thrill of being caught.” She winked, and Masha laughed.

* * *

War broke out the next day, and it was all anyone could talk about. Masha pondered over yesterday’s visit, and wondered if, maybe, this was why Anastasia had come to her: to avoid thinking of what was looming in the near future as they smoked and coughed on the smelly cigarettes.

* * *

Tatiana stared at her, and Masha looked at the floor. War had been raging for a while, now, and Tatiana’s girls had been reassigned - well, all but one. _Herself_.

“I’m sorry.” She said, soft. Her hair was short, a deep auburn that seemed impossible in the royal family. “I’d have you help nurse on the hospital, too, but you’re too young. Were you a year or two older, it could be arranged, but…”

“It’s alright, your highness.” Masha replied, and Tatiana seemed flustered for a moment, before regaining her composure. She seemed more regal than Anastasia, or more maternal, but Anastasia held a special place in her heart, the first to show her enough kindness and care to give her a place on the palace, to take her from her home and give her new horizons. She had no idea where she would’ve been, had they not crossed paths that day. 

“Is there  _ anything  _ I can help you with?” Tatiana asked, and Masha adjusted her dingy skirt better, trying to cover her ankles; she had outgrown those a year ago, but with the war, the prices on fabric had skyrocketed. “I know you’re from Spalda, and I think I may have enough to send you home. Would you like that?”

She had disappeared from Spalda in 1913, and a winter and a half had already gone and passed; if her parents still thought of her once every six days, it would still be more than Masha expected. She had no place to come back to, no place to call home but her small shared room in a corner of the palace and the working room, the stolen moments with Anastasia making breathing worth it.

“Wait, hold up, Tanya!” Anastasia said, breathless from the door, and Tatiana turned to face her sister, Masha looking at her through the silhouette of Tatiana. “She doesn’t have a place to come back, and  _ honestly _ , why not keep her here, working on embroidery for charity? Just hire a bunch more of girls, since yours will be paid by the Ministry of Justice, and keep this up. It’s a good cause and all that.”

Tatiana considered her words for a moment, and nodded, ignoring Masha in favor of going to Anastasia.

“My,  _ someone’s  _ grown. Did you ask father for this?” She asked, one hand under her chin, deep in thought. Anastasia produced from her pockets a paper, and Tatiana glowed. “Thank you!”

“It’s nothing, now go find some girls to keep your charity auctions going and get us some war funding or whatever.” Anastasia waved her off, and Tatiana, with a nod, left. Anastasia then entered the room, threw herself on the chair Tatiana had been sitting until a few moments ago, and sighed.

“Thanks for letting me stay here.” She said, smiling, and Anastasia grinned. 

“And get rid of my favorite companion? No way, you’re stuck with me ‘til death do us apart.” Anastasia yawned, and rolled her shoulders. “_Fuck_, I want to take a nap.” 

Masha jumped to her feet, and Anastasia made a cooing noise, as if asking what she was doing as Masha went to the ready-made pile, seeking something, and finding it buried in the depths of it: a throw pillow, embroidered with a double-headed eagle.

She offered it to Anastasia, who rose an eyebrow, but accepted it nonetheless, rising and putting it on the chair. Masha sat down, hands on her lap, and Anastasia acted fast: she sat down on the ground, her head on Masha’s lap, nested against her hands.

“Anastasia?!” She exclaimed, panicking: so many servants had told her to not let the Grand Duchesses stand smaller than her, and here was Anastasia, way lower than her. “This isn’t…”

“It is appropriate because I say it is.” She grumbled, and Masha couldn’t see her face as the girl nuzzled against Masha’s callused hands. “Let me rest, will you? I had to run after father to grab that for Tanya.”

Masha smiled to herself as a small chuckle left her throat, one of her hands escaping from underneath Anastasia’s blonde head and gently petting the girl’s hair.

“Okay, then sleep. I’ll wake you up for dinner.”

Anastasia grumbled something, and Masha relaxed against her chair, hand on Anastasia’s hair.

* * *

“And then, Olga started breaking the windows, it was so funny!” Anastasia laughed, walking on the rail. It was raining, and Anastasia held an umbrella up for the two of them, although Masha’s shoulders were getting a little wet. It could be dealt with later, though. “Me and Maria joined in, of  _ course _ , but mother was mad about it later, even though Maria told her Olga had started it.”

Masha did not see Anastasia’s sisters much (she barely even saw Anastasia ever since the war had started, a year ago, when their paths had almost parted ways), but she had crossed paths with Olga before, a few days ago: Masha had been going out to deliver the new batch of embroidery to the messenger, and Olga and Tatiana had been arriving home from their shift on the hospital. Tatiana greeted her, warmly, and Olga had stared at her like she was lower than the dirt stuck underneath her shoes, face thin like she had lost too much weight too suddenly. It reminded her of her sister, in her final days.

“And what did your mother say?” Masha asked, and Anastasia jumped from the railing, the puddle she fell in splashing and dirtying both their skirts. 

“Mother has talked with the hospital administrative, and she is going to oversee for Olga to not go to the  _ lazaret  _ anymore.” She shrugged, and then huffed, passing the umbrella to Masha just so she could cross her arms. “Were it me, I wouldn’t quit.”

“People have different tendencies and humors.” Masha said, conciliatory, and Anastasia shrugged again as the two kept on walking. “Are you going to the hospital today?”

“Of course! Malama said he’d win today’s card game, and I’m too good at poker to lose!” Anastasia boasted, nose held high, and Masha chuckled. “Don’t believe me?”

“I don’t even know what poker is.”

“Then I must teach you! Come with me, come on!” Anastasia abandoned all semblance of royalty, grabbing her free hand and running in the rain to the palace, sneaking in through  an open window, and then gently guiding Masha to the floor where the four sisters lived. There, she found Maria, who was playing with…

“Are you playing with your rat again?” Anastasia asked, and Maria jumped, letting the rat go, the small creature entering a hole in the wall and disappearing. Anastasia let go of Masha’s hand, and the warm imprint stayed for a second longer than normal. “Hey, come on, Masha here doesn’t know how to play poker and I’m itching to play.”

“Ah, so you are Masha.” Maria said, ignoring Anastasia’s words as the girl went around the two-person bedroom, looking for something in the drawers. Maria, if Masha was honest, seemed like a lovely girl, face round and a kind smile etched on it, blue eyes big as saucers. “Anya keeps chattering about you.”

“I do not!” Anastasia protested in a squeaky voice, and Maria turned to face her, hands on her hips.

“Oh, yes? Your diaries say otherwise.” Something flew in Maria’s direction, and both girls ducked at it hit the wall. A quick look behind revealed it to be a leather ball.

“Stop reading my diaries! It’s impolite, and rude, and everything else, too!” Maria chuckled at Anastasia’s words, and directed a look at Masha, turning back to her and leaning in, brown hair falling between them, too close for comfort; Masha fidgeted in place.

“Keep her company. With Alexei gone to the front, I fear she will be too alone.” She said, before straightening herself as Anastasia yelled in victory, finding the pack of cards. “Ah, you’ve found it! Fantastic. What is the bet?”

Anastasia grinned, and Masha felt a headache forming itself.

* * *

Maria folded, and so did Masha. She had already lost a pair of embroidered socks to Anastasia, and the girl seemed smug at her wins. She was about to set her cards on the table to prove her card game superiority when a voice, clear and loud, resonated through the entire wing.

“Anya, Masha, where are you?” The woman called, and both sisters straightened their backs, Anastasia jumping to her feet as Maria ran to the door. Masha knew, almost instinctively, she wasn’t the right Masha that was being called upon.

“We have to go, mother is here, and if she finds I brought you here she’s going to make Tatiana fire you.” Anastasia whispered, as Maria left the room, probably trying to stale their mother for a while, enough to, at least, for Masha to disappear.

They walked down the same set of stairs they had used to enter, and arrived on the same first floor room, which, now that Masha thought about it, seemed like a generic tea room. No matter; Anastasia guided her to the window, gave her the umbrella they had left outside, and Masha jumped to the other side, landing on a muddy patch.

“I’ll come to you again, okay?”

“For your socks?” Masha quipped, and Anastasia grinned, kissing her for a moment too brief. 

“And for you, of course. Now go!” Anastasia hurried her, and Masha, feeling her face red with shame, ran.

* * *

“Ortipo! Jimmy! Joy!” Yelled Anastasia, barging in the room as she followed the three aforementioned dogs. Some girls yelled, putting their feet up in their chairs to avoid the animals, and other rose to their feet, chairs falling back. Masha stayed put; her family had had dogs, and she knew that they fed on the moods of others. “Oh my God, you three!”

The one with long, fluffy ears jumped onto Masha’s lap, and she had to throw the embroidering circle away as so not to stab the dog; she didn’t even want to think what would happen if she were to draw the dog’s blood. 

The dog wagged its tail at Masha, and Masha wondered if she could pet it; before any thought could be formed into action, Alexei appeared, a sailor who seemed three different kinds of fed up carrying him into the room. Behind the sailor, Tatiana.

“I am truly sorry, girls.” Tatiana said, as she scooped down the dog with a weird snout, like it had run into a door and the snout stayed that way. “Ortipo bit through the safety lock, and we had to go after them.”

Anastasia scooped up the dog on Masha’s lap, another already under her arm. She sent Masha an apologetic look, and then, the four were off.

The girls seemed taken back, and as they sat down and arranged their chairs upright again, Masha heard the beginnings of gossip grew. She did not speak; instead she picked up her embroidery circle, and kept doing the drawing of two crossed rifles on the fabric.

* * *

“Hey. Masha. Hey.” Anastasia said, through a gap on the window. The other girls were busy with work, and too into their heated conversation to notice it. Masha, letting go of her embroidery, walked to the window, widening the gap.

It was just a few days after Christmas; the girls kept working, but mostly because Tatiana promised extra pay if they came in for four hours a day. The charities, it seemed, always needed more and more items. 

“Anastasia, what brings you here?” Masha whispered, leaning into the windowsill, and Anastasia offered her a small box. “What is that?” 

“A Christmas gift, silly.” A beat. “For the socks. Also, call me Anya while we are alone.”

“I gave them to you months ago.”

“Yeah, but they were the best gift I got.” Anastasia smiled warmly and messed up Masha’s brown hair. “I got to go, or father is going to see I’m gone. Merry Christmas, Masha.”

“To you as well, Anya.” She replied, and Anastasia took off after a brief kiss, too close to her lips and leaving Masha with the desire they had touched.

* * *

It was march of 1917 when Tatiana came into the room, tears on her eyes ready to spring forth and a trail of them already marked on her face. Masha stood to attention first, and then, as a wave, every other girl did the same.

“I’m sorry.” She started, barely stifling a sob. “I’m sorry. My father, the Czar, has renounced to his throne, which means that I cannot hire you all anymore. If you wish to leave, please do.”

The girls hesitated, clearly shaken - if  _ Tatiana _ , the bastion of being prim, proper and always a steady presence, was shaken, what laid in store for them? - and some of them sprung to their feet as fast as possible, muttering apologies to Tatiana on their way out.

Eventually, all filed down out of the room, and Tatiana soon found a seat by Masha, sobbing gently. Masha finished her embroidered handkerchief, the double eagle suddenly tasteless, and took it off the hoop, offering it to Tatiana, who sneezed gently into it.

“I’m sorry, Masha. I know you don’t have how to pay any of you anymore.” She sniffed, and dabbed the tears away from her eyes. “I wish there was an easier solution for you, but I, for the life of me, can think of anything. Pushkin does not have that many places to live, and Saint Petersburg is just full of riot after riot…”

“I’ll manage. I’ve gone hungry more than a day in my life.” She replied, and blinked quickly.

She could see the cogs turning behind her eyes; Anastasia’s eyes looked the same when she was in deep thought.

“Has Anastasia ever told you about our little playhouse…?” Tatiana started, and then shook her head. “No, what am I saying?”

“She has. Anastasia keeps a pack of cigarettes there.” The royal (or ex-royal, perhaps?) girl seemed horrified, but nodded, rising.

“Then let us go. We won’t be able to send you food every day, but the water is clean, at least.”

Masha nodded, rising from her seat and watching as Tatiana grabbed a quilt someone had finished a few days ago and that never had the chance of going to the charities she had, and a bunch more of clothes, all thick and comfortable. Small mercies, Masha supposed.

* * *

The little house had a draft, and Masha couldn’t open the windows or lit the chimney up, else she be discovered. At least the open hole where the draft snuck in allowed some light to pour in, bathing the world in grey tones. She had a small corner for herself, where she made a bed with the extra clothing, and slept curled in like a rat. She got food every two days, when Anastasia sneaked out, after the guards fell asleep or went out to Pushkin, and while they couldn’t talk louder than a whisper, the company was nice.

After the first week, Masha learned the paths the guards took during the day. It was always the same, always in the same hours, the same voices over and over pouring in through the small hole in the house, traveling through the lake. At night, the grounds were clearer, fewer people on it.

She had trespassed on a palace once. Nothing stopped her from doing again, using the water’s gently frozen surface to tiptoe to the gardens, walking around the bushes and avoiding open surfaces, ignoring pools of light that would get her shot. Masha was thankful that, at least, they were doing light cuts to the family; it made her work easier.

Slipping through the same window she had to play cards with Anastasia once, she looked around, curling into herself to see if she would hear anyone coming - and she always could pretend to be a ghost, Masha told herself, trying to reassure her mind that nothing would happen.

“Masha?” Anastasia whispered, and she whipped her head up, fast enough to give her neck pain later. There stood Anastasia, holding bread that was covered by a white linen. “What are you doing here?”

“I learned the guard’s paths.” She said, and Anastasia smiled softly, sitting on the ground and uncovering the bread, the smell more mouth-watering than before. “And I missed you, Anya.”

Anastasia, perhaps for the first time that Masha could recall, got flustered, loudly choking on her own saliva as she looked up, hair wild and frizzy.

“What? Me?” She spoke like she did not believe Masha’s words, but there was a soft smile on her face. “Come on, stop playing around.”

“I’m serious!” Masha insisted, and Anastasia laughed, loud at first before catching herself, a mouth to her hand as Masha picked at the bread, eating without a care in the world. She could see Jimmy approaching, slow but certain, and Masha knew there would be no trace of her presence left behind. “I’ve spent all days I can remember at least hearing about you, or seeing you, and now I’m on that little house all by myself, and when I see you, we can barely talk! Am I not supposed to miss you? Am I supposed to ignore what I feel, Anya?”

Anastasia bit her lower lip, and then sighed, theatrical, sprawling herself on the plush carpet. Masha took the moment to eat more, hunger gnawing at her stomach.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve thought about how you felt, but what you’re doing is dangerous.”

“Look who’s talking. Wasn’t you the one who took me to Pushkin that one day? I do recall you knowing the spot on the fence with a hole.”

Anastasia conceded the point, and the two stayed in silence for a long moment.

“I think we’re going to die.” Anastasia started, slow, and Masha perked up. “Father gets stressed every day because of the exile offers being refused, and Alexei is growing sicker by the day. If not now, soon, and if not by natural causes…”

A shudder, and she rose from her seat on the floor, Jimmy jumping in her lap. Masha closed the bread offered, deciding to save it for tomorrow, and looked at Anastasia, who seemed to have her eyes shining with tears.

“I don’t  _ want  _ to die. I’ve barely ever lived, and I don’t want to die. Why do we have to die young?” There was a barely contained scream brewing in Anastasia’s throat, and Masha threw caution to the wind, throwing her arms around Anastasia, the girl finally sobbing gently.

“It’s alright. Death happens. Whether tomorrow or seventy years from now, we all die, Anya.” Masha said, trying to do her best to be soothing. She then let go of Anastasia, hands on the girl’s petite shoulders. “But you have to die without regrets. If you die with those, then there was no worth on living.”

She sniffed, and nodded, kissing Masha softly, and separated when snot threatened to fall from her nose; Masha had barely time to process it before Anastasia rose, Jimmy gently falling to the ground with only the grace a cat would have (which was odd, considering Jimmy was a dog) as the girl cleaned her nose on the back of her hand. 

“You’re right. You’re  _ right _ ! I’m going to die with no regrets.” She said, nodding carefully, and smiled, helping Masha rise after the brown-haired girl grabbed her bread from the floor. “Thanks.”

“It’s nothing. I have to go, though; a soldier is going to pass by the lake soon enough.” Masha said, and Anastasia nodded, sniffing again. “Come on, now. If you die, so do I.”

“You can still run to Saint Petersburg, though. Get a boring factory job. All that stuff.” Anastasia grabbed Masha’s free hand, pressing them. “Promise me that, if I die, you’ll live on.”

“Okay.” Masha nodded, and Anastasia smiled once more, kissing her softly - no snot this time - before sprinting back, Jimmy hot in her heels, and Masha turned back to her home.

* * *

The rest of the year went in an uneventful manner - Masha, running to Anastasia when the loneliness grew too much to bear, and Anastasia coming with bread or other durable food that she saved with Tatiana’s help.

It was in a late night when Anastasia knocked on her door, and Masha opened it, sleepy and cold, to greet the girl, completely soaked to the bone, wearing a simple white dress that looked as generic as possible.

“Anastasia?” She asked in a yawn, and the girl entered the small room, marching to the fireplace and grabbing what was left of the cigarettes. “You’re alright?”

“No.” A pause, as she fiddled with the chimney, grabbing the tin can and trying - and failing - to open it. Masha closed the door and met her, taking the tin can from Anastasia.

“Change your clothes and sit down while I do this, okay?” Masha said, and Anastasia, washed out in grey tones, nodded, going for the clothes pile that served as Masha’s bed.

Masha stared at her back for a moment, her blonde hair soggy and dripping water into the ground. Then, she averted her eyes, focusing on opening the tin can and lit up a cigarette for Anastasia, who rose dressed up in another descriptionless white dress.

“So, what happened?” Masha asked, as Anastasia took a drag, shaky hands illuminated by the focal red point of the cigarette.

“They’re sending us to Yekaterinburg tomorrow. All of us left, anyway.” She looked at Masha, and her free hand shot up to touch Masha’s. “Please, I’m begging you to leave this palace. I won’t be here to give you food anymore. Save yourself, at least.”

Masha cocked her head and nodded.

“Alright. Tomorrow, while there’s a commotion, I’ll leave.” She smiled, and Anastasia lit up. “You should smoke that and get out before they notice you’re gone, too.”

Anastasia nodded, but relaxed against her chair, stretching.

“Yeah, but not now. Now I just want to relax.”

“Yeah, not now.” Masha echoed, smiling faintly.

* * *

Anastasia left the wet outfit behind, as if she had forgotten it, but Masha saw no reason to mention. Instead, she let Anastasia go and opened the window just slightly, enough to let snow fall on her bed, cold and welcoming.

She changed clothes, putting on Anastasia’s wet one, and going to sleep above her quilt. Without Anastasia around, she had no reason to live, and she didn’t plan on it.

* * *

“Anya!” Called Dimitri, snapping his fingers in front of her face, snapping the girl out of her thoughts. She was almost sure she had a memory, just lurking underneath the surface of a lake, but his voice brought her out of it, making her forget. Raising her eyes, Anya looked curiously at the man. “Your best friend is...?”

“Masha.” She said, and did not know where the name had come from.

“No, your best friend is - “

“I _know _who my best friend is!”

**Author's Note:**

> yes maria kept a pet rat yes it was just a wall rat dont ask me why they didnt give her a dog or something


End file.
